From bridge to bridge, discussing other matters
that my story has no need to tell,
we walked along and reached the summit's edge,
then stopped to peer into another chasm
of Malebolge and hear its useless wails—
and I saw darkness there beyond all measure.
Like the Arsenal of Venice in winter,
where sticky pitch boils constantly
to caulk the leaking ships that cannot sail—
instead, one builds a vessel new,
another patches ribs of ships
that have weathered countless voyages,
one hammers at the bow, one at the stern,
this man makes oars, that one twists rope,
another mends the mainsail and the jib—
so here below, not heated by flame
but by divine art, a thick pitch boiled,
coating the banks on every side.
I saw it all, but could make out nothing
except the bubbles that the boiling raised,
the whole surface swelling up and sinking back.
While I stood staring fixedly below,
my guide cried out: "Look out! Look out!"
and pulled me close to where he stood.
I spun around like someone desperate
to see what he must flee from,
terrified by sudden fear—
who looks but doesn't delay his escape.
Behind us I saw a black demon
racing along the rocky ridge toward us.
How savage he appeared!
How ruthless he seemed in motion,
wings spread wide, swift on his feet!
His sharp and towering shoulders
carried a sinner gripped by both legs,
clutching the tendons of his feet.
From our bridge the demon called:
"You Malebranche! Here's one of the elders
from Saint Zita's city—thrust him under!
I'm going back for more from that town
so well-stocked with his kind.
They're all grafters there, except Bonturo—
there they turn No to Yes for cash."
He hurled the sinner down and wheeled back
over the jagged cliff, and never was
a mastiff unleashed with such fury
to chase a thief.
The sinner plunged and surfaced face-down,
but the demons beneath the bridge
shouted: "The Holy Face has no power here!
Here you swim differently than in the Serchio!
If you don't want to feel our hooks,
don't try to rise above the pitch!"
View larger
DEVILS AND BARRATORS
“If you don't want to feel our hooks,”
They struck him with a hundred prongs,
saying: "Here you must dance underwater,
so you can grab what you can in secret."
Just so cooks make their kitchen boys
plunge meat into the kettle's center
with forks, to keep it from floating up.
My good master said to me: "Stay hidden—
crouch down behind that jutting rock
so you'll have cover.
Don't be afraid of any insult to me,
for I know how to handle this;
I've been in such a fight before."
He passed beyond the bridge's head,
and when he set foot on the sixth embankment,
he needed to show a bold face.
With the same fury and commotion
as dogs that rush out at a beggar
who suddenly starts pleading wherever he stops,
the demons burst from beneath the bridge
and turned all their grappling hooks on him.
But he cried: "Let none of you attack!
Before your hooks take hold of me,
let one step forward to hear me out,
then decide whether to hook me."
View larger
DEVILS AND VIRGIL
“the demons burst from beneath the bridge”
They all shouted: "Let Malacoda go!"
One moved forward while the rest held still,
approaching him: "What good will this do?"
"Do you think, Malacoda," my master said,
"you see me here, advanced so far,
safe until now from all your weapons,
without divine will and favorable fate?
Let me pass—it is willed in Heaven
that I show another this savage path."
His arrogance collapsed so completely
that he dropped his hook at his feet
and told the others: "Don't strike him."
My guide called to me: "You there,
crouched among the broken stones—
come back to me safely now."
I started up and hurried to his side,
but all the demons pressed forward,
making me fear they'd break their word.
I once saw soldiers just as frightened
leaving Caprona under safe conduct,
seeing themselves among so many enemies.
I pressed my whole body close
to my leader's side and never took
my eyes from their faces, which looked far from kind.
They lowered their hooks, and one said
to another: "Want me to nick his rump?"
"Yes," came the answer, "give him a taste!"
But the demon who was speaking
with my guide spun quickly around:
"Quiet, Scarmiglione, quiet!"
Then he said to us: "You can't go farther
along this ridge, because the sixth arch
lies completely shattered at the bottom.
If you still want to continue,
follow this rocky bank—nearby
another ridge offers a crossing.
Yesterday, five hours later than now,
it was exactly one thousand two hundred
sixty-six years since the road broke here.
I'm sending some of my troops that way
to check if anyone's airing himself out there.
Go with them—they won't harm you.
Step up, Alichino and Calcabrina!"
he began shouting. "And you, Cagnazzo!
Barbariccia, you lead the squad of ten.
Come forward, Libicocco and Draghignazzo,
and tusked Ciriatto and Graffiacane,
Farfarello and raging Rubicante.
Search all around the boiling pitch.
Keep these two safe until the next ridge
that crosses the dens unbroken."
"Master, what do I see?" I said.
"Please, if you know the way, let's go
without escort—I want none for myself.
If you're as sharp as always,
don't you see them grinding their teeth
and threatening us with their scowls?"
He answered: "I don't want you to fear.
Let them gnash away as they please—
they're doing it for those boiling wretches."
They wheeled left along the bank,
but first each one pressed his tongue
between his teeth as a signal to their leader,
and he made a trumpet of his ass.